


Checkmate

by Acting4Hope



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Post Episode 69, Slow Burn, merle teaches john how live again following the hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-19 16:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11901369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acting4Hope/pseuds/Acting4Hope
Summary: Merle has a grave.Or: How Merle teaches an old friend how to live after being gone for so long.





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> Wooo! This idea has been haunting me for like...days now. And I finally sat myself down with enough time to write it out!! 
> 
> I'm going to try my damnedest to finish this one because I have a tendency to start chapter fics and never finish them (glances at my taakitz fic and looks away)....anyway 
> 
> I originally wasn't gonna make this fully johnmerle at first, and then see how I fleshed out the story, but then I decided "fuck it" and committed to the bit. It won't be important until a while, but...yeah we'll get there eventually. 
> 
> A lot of this is actually going to address more like...family-type stuff?? Like a majority of the stuff I've thought of for this is more of the IPRE crew + Merle's kids like...adjusting to the fact that Merle is letting John back into his life?? And like a lot of their sort of worries and fears about John (which was why I was hesitant about the ship tag in the first place because would I even get to that point?? idk yet I haven't written it out). So this is more of a "John learns to live again and, in that time, learns that living means loving" more than "Merle played chess w/ his supposedly dead bf, but now that he's back everyone's gotta deal" type thing. I hope that makes sense?? Idk it's late and I have work tomorrow. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!!

Merle has a grave. Hidden where the sandy shores of Bottlenose Cove meet the treeline of its neighboring city lies a rock, sitting vertical in the dirt. Surrounding the rock is a circle of smaller rocks, half-burnt candles sitting on every stone. In the very center of this display is a wooden board; checkered pattern burned into the smooth surface, and tiny carved pieces sitting in their respective squares. It’s a chessboard, one that Merle had commissioned from Magnus not too long after the day of Story and Song. He told Magnus that he deserved a little gift for himself, after overhearing Magnus’s plans of carving Taako a headmaster’s desk for his new school, and Magnus happily obliged. The chessboard was made with cedar; a natural dye coloring every other square. The chess pieces were cedar as well, and each was unique in its craftsmanship. The board sits in the center of this grave, untouched, with all the pieces waiting to be played.

 

It’s a grave for John. Though, from a glance, no one would know. There is no indication of John anywhere in the ensemble; no name etched into the large rock, no pictures of him (though, pictures were never even _taken_ of John). Only Merle knows it’s for him, and Merle visits almost every day.

 

He knows it’s cathartic; he knows he shouldn’t be lingering over this lost soul so much. After all, he has a better life now! A found family he adores, children who adore _him_ , and a business that is quickly booming. He has no need to be mourning over his old friend.

 

But..he still has this grave. And every day, when his work is finished and his children are occupied, he goes on a walk. Down the shoreline, far far away from his home, to where the sand meets the dirt. And he walks even further, still, going into the treeline until he comes across a small break in the bushes and stumps. There, he sits in front of his grave, and he talks.

 

He talks to John.

 

Hours pass by, and Merle is just sitting there; happily rambling on about the latest happenings, as if someone was actually there. Actually listening to Merle, instead of his words echoing through the forest. Then, suddenly, he’ll get a call. Usually it’s from Mavis, but sometimes it’s also from a friend who’s visiting. That’s his cue to stand, brush the dirt off of his shorts, and walk home. But before he leaves, he always says the same thing to his grave.

 

“Your move, John.” It’s an invitation for many things; the most obvious being the game of chess sitting in front of the grave. But it’s also an invitation for conversation, for a reaching out, for _anything_.

 

He knows his invitation will never be taken, but he can’t help putting it out there.

 

And then, he leaves. He walks back home and pretends as if none of it happened; blaming his absence on a particularly long conversation with Pan, or a nap that went a little _too_ long. Merle can never tell his family about his grave; he knows the looks he would get. So he keeps it as his little secret, one of the very last ones he has to his name.

 

Merle, then, moves on with his day. He laughs, he drinks, he loves, he sleeps. In the morning, he’ll wake up and greet the morning just as he always does. He’ll pray, wake up his children, cook (or, _attempt_ to cook) breakfast, get dressed, and go to work.

 

When all of that is done, he comes home and visits John; every day wishing one of those pieces would just move.

 

He knows they won’t, though, and he’s content to live with this life. He’s content to live with his grave.

 

And then, a piece moves.

 

\---

 

Merle almost can not believe what he’s seeing when he comes to John’s grave today. He nearly misses it, but the piece catches his eye as he settles down in his usual spot.

 

It’s a pawn, moved forward a single space, on John’s side.

 

Merle wants to do a lot of things; he wants to yell, he wants to jump up and search wildly for the culprit, he wants to demand the world that they show him who moved this piece.

 

Instead of doing all that, Merle just laughs.

 

“Took ya long enough!” Merle calls out, leaning over a little to move one of his pawns forward. “Alright, Johnny boy, your move!”

 

Silence. Nothing moves.

 

Merle laughs again.

 

“I see how it is. We’re gonna be playing this game for a helluva lot longer than I thought, then.” Merle leans back on his hands, gazing up at the sun peeking through the treetops. He takes a deep breathe in and lets it out in a long sigh.

 

“So, Mookie tackled Angus while playing soccer and sprained the poor boy’s wrist. Now I know what you’re thinking, how the hell did they even get on the same soccer team? Well, it all started when…”

 

And life continues on as normal.

 

\---

 

The next day, Merle arrives to see one of John’s knights has been moved forward. He smiles, sits down, and considers his next move. Merle moves another one of his pawns, then begins his daily recap of his life.

 

The cycle shifts, ever so slightly, but moves on without fail.

 

\---

 

Days turn to weeks, weeks turn to months, and Merle is finally beginning to see an end to this chess match. It worries him, almost, to see the end so clearly in sight. A very small voice in the back of his mind tells him that once this ends, he might truly lose John forever. That very small voice is ignored, in favor of the louder voice that remarks on how it looks like John’s _letting_ him win.

 

All he has to do is move a few pieces around, claim John’s king, then checkmate!

 

With this in mind, Merle decides to place a little wager out.

 

“Okay, pal, if I win this game...you gotta tell me where you’re at.” Merle says, nearly two months into the game, moving his rook to capture John’s knight. “I don’t care if it’s just a signal, or a sign, I just...I wanna know where you are.” He is met with silence, as usual, but this time it feels a lot...heavier. Merle is struck with the very new sensation of being _watched_.

 

This time, he cuts his visit short and walks quickly back to his home.

 

\---

 

That sensation comes back again and again after that day, unnerving Merle to the point where he’s skipping days just to avoid the feeling crawling up his spine. The air around John’s grave suddenly feels colder, and Merle now fears a very _different_ reality may happen when he finishes the game. It keeps him up at night, and leaves him jumpy during the day.

 

He’s gone from enjoying his visits to merely anticipating the next one. Waiting on the edge of his seat for what the next day brings. He tries to keep up his normal conversations at the grave, but that nagging sensation is eventually too much to bear and he’s gone.

 

Merle briefly wonders if this is nature warning him not to dabble with the unknown.

 

Merle leaves those thoughts brief for a reason.

 

\---

 

Merle wakes up one morning, three months into his chess game, with the very sudden realization that _today is the day_. He springs to his feet, ignoring the crick in his back and the phantom pains crawling up his severed stump as he attaches his soulwood arm and races down the steps. It’s a Sunday morning, so Mavis is already awake making breakfast in preparation for the long hours her and Merle would spend in prayer to Pan.

 

Mavis turns and sees Merle hastily putting on his sandals and quirks her brow in questioning.

 

“Dad?” She asks, breaking Merle from his hurried trance to glance at his daughter. “Where are you going?” Merle laughs, far too loud and forced to even sound remotely normal, and rubs the back of his neck.

 

“Well, pumpkin, I gotta...run out for a little bit. Errands to do, ya know….Shit like that.” Merle explains. Mavis’s brows furrow as she places her hands on her hips and stares down her father.

 

“It’s Sunday, Dad, you don’t do _anything_ on Sundays. Plus, all the shops around here are _closed_ on Sundays.” She retorts, stare hardening as she tries to break her father’s weak constitution. He already looks like he’s breaking away, eyes darting around the room as he scrambles for another explanation.  

 

“Uhhh, my errands don’t involve the store! Y-Yeah, I just have to...run out! And do non-store related things!” Merle replies as he walks closer to the front door. Mavis sees this and abandons her place in the kitchen to chase after her father. She stops him just before his hand touches the doorknob, and he looks back to see her concerned face.

 

“Whatever you are doing, you can _tell me_ . I...You know that, right, Dad?” She sounds concerned, but Merle can feel the bigger question lying underneath her words: _You’re not leaving again, right?_  

 

Merle leans over and kisses Mavis on the forehead. “Of course, honey.” He says, leaning away to smile at his daughter. “I _swear_ , I’ll only be out for a little bit.” Mavis smiles back, reaching up to plant a kiss on her father’s cheek before backing away.

 

“Okay, but just know I’m not covering for you when Pan asks where you are during prayer today!” Mavis calls out, walking back into the kitchen to finish the breakfast she started. Merle chuckles and opens the door, feeling the sea breeze on his wrinkled skin.

 

Well, he can deal with Pan later.

 

For right now, he’s got a game to finish.

 

\---

 

His legs feel like lead by the time he reaches John’s grave, but his heart is practically lurching out of his throat with all the nervous excitement coursing through his body. That intense feeling that has been haunting this site for the last month is gone, as if inviting Merle to sit down and finish this.

 

And he does. He sits in his usual spot, leans back on one hand, and takes a deep breath.

 

His fingers wrap around the smooth wood of his priest, and knocks John’s king off the board with a flick of the wrist. The wood-to-wood contact results in a small clack! as Merle sets down his priest in the king’s place.

 

Merle smiles, and cannot wait to say the words he’s about to say next.

 

“Checkmate, buddy.”

 

He instinctively holds his breath as he waits for the grand reveal. Seconds feel like millennia as Merle waits for _anything_.

 

But, just as every other day, his words are met with absolute silence.

 

Merle feels a twist of anger in his gut, but he doesn’t lose his composure. What was he even thinking? This was never John; probably just some punkass kid who found Merle’s grave and decided to play a prank on a grieving old man.

 

Merle stands up, anger quickly morphing to regret and a deep, _deep_ sadness, and he turns to leave--

 

And then he sees someone standing directly behind him.

 

He doesn’t look the same as before. He’s dressed in a common folk's outfit; a beige, tattered shirt with long, brown pants and a pair of old sandals. His brown skin looks tanner now, and he’s got the beginnings of what looks to be a glorious beard. His salt-and-pepper hair is tousled and frizzy, but his blue-grey eyes are the same exact ones Merle looked at for a century.

 

It’s _John_.

 

And Merle can do nothing but laugh, sit back down, and say something he’s been waiting an awful long time to say.

 

“ _Man_ , did you get _shitty_ at chess!”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna come yell at me abt this fic or just TAZ in general, hmu on my tumblr @autistic--amethyst!!


End file.
